In Her Eyes
by Inkraven003
Summary: Excerpts-some short, others not-of my Inquisitor's Tahlia's progression from beginning to end. Right now it is starting with a rating of T, but due to my Character's being in charge and not me . . . it could shift. I will clearly mark any chapter that has M content. Also: warning. There may be no clear linear line to posted stories. This also has a plethora of characters
1. Chapter 1

Dust. Smoke. Clouds. Light. All of it smothering, choking, swirling like they were angry at the sky. In the distance there was a scream. And it was the scream that made the elf stir. She cracked her eyes open, utterly disoriented.

She slowly sat up and looked around her. Where . . . was she? All around her, she saw an eerie light that reflected off the dust that was hanging in the air. She suddenly started coughing as the dust got sucked into her lungs and belatedly, she realized the air was strange. The air was dense and it made her skin tingle and her hairs to stand on end. This wasn't—she wasn't supposed to be here. Everything felt wrong and . . .

The Conclave.

She had been at the Conclave at behest of her clan. But that's as far as her knowledge went. What was a Conclave? And what clan was she from . . .? She couldn't even recall what her name was. Suddenly, there was a different light. Brighter, cleaner, and washing away the eerie, sickly light. She quickly turned and there it was. The source of the light. She had to shield her eyes from fear of going blind. Was it . . . moving?

A chittering sound made her look behind her shoulder. She gasped and scrambled back as—demons! The ground moved with them! Terrified, she turned and ran for the light, scrambling and sliding to reach it. They were getting closer—she could hear them closing in. A scream caught itself in her throat and she turned her face back to the light. For a moment she was stunned to see that the light had taken a shape, the shape of a woman who was now reaching for her. The elf cried out and lunged forward. The moment her hand touched the woman made of light, her surroundings changed and she fell, slamming into the ground. No more eerie light, no more dust, or choking air or demons. Pure energy crackled throughout her body, making it go stiff. And in the next second, she was being surrounded by men and frantic shouting and then she was once again unconscious.

Her name was Tahlia or at least that felt right. She had been sitting there for hours trying to figure out at least that much. Her mind was a jumble with too many images and noise to really extract anything that could help. Even if she did remember something, it was only a piece to the whole and she had no idea how it fit in with anything let along how it related to her. And they were mostly in fragments, pieces. She would remember a smiling mouth, a soothing voice that was neither man nor woman. She saw how light and shadow from the canopy above would mottle the ground. But that was it.

And it was damn confusing.

She cried out as, once again, her hand flared, green light illuminating the room, making her four guards shift nervously. She didn't know what the _thing_ on her hand was, but it kept flaring more and more often and each time it did, the pain increased. It would race up her arm like lightening and render her numb and breathes before the pain would make her muscles tense and spasm. She just wanted answers and yet all she got were questions or silent glares.

Tahlia looked at the door as she suddenly heard raised voices. Women, by the tone of them. The door slammed open and she winced. She had been correct—women stepped through as they heatedly argued about something. Both were humans. One wore mostly leather armor and sported short, black hair that had a braid for a crown—this one was like a storm. The other wore robes, a hood pulled up and over her head, but red hair peeked out anyway. They were contrasting, complementing, like day and night. But they both wore a symbol on their clothing, an eye that had a sword through it and rays shooting from the center. A spark of familiarity hit Tahlia, but that was all. She knew she knew the symbol, but not how or why or what significance it held.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now!" The dark one demanded. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead!" She pointed an accusing finger at the restrained elf. "Except for you."

Her mind raced with this new information. She had survived something, but what? And that word again—Conclave. Names and faces flashed to the forefront of her mind, too rapid for her to make any sense of them besides the fact that she once knew them. Had they been there? Were they dead?

She flinched as the storm grasped her tied together wrists, jerking her forward a bit. "Explain _this_." As if on cue, the mark on Tahlia's hand flared green once again and this time the pain that followed was so intense, she cried out.

Confusion and fear collided and made her angry. Tahlia tore her arm away and bit out, "I _can't_. I don't even know what _this_ is."

However, this answer only seemed to outrage her tormentor more. "What do you mean you _can't_?" The other one, the one in robes, stepped forward. " _Well?_ "

Tahlia was growing progressively more annoyed with the storm. "I already told you. I don't know what's going on or what this is! I don't remember anything! I don't even remember who I am!"

She lunged forward but the other one, the red head stepped in and pushed her back. "We need her, Cassandra."

The one named Cassandra took a few steps back, her fists clench, visibly trying to calm down. Need her? What could they possibly need her—then Tahlia opened her palm and eyed the mark on her hand. It must have something to do with the ghastly thing.

"Do you remember what happened? Do remember anything?" The redhead asked.

Tahlia clenched her jaw and shook her head, her fear and confusion almost completely consumed with anger and frustration, both at herself and her situation. She dug for images, sights, smells, _anything_. Maybe if she talked it out, pieces and fragments would start fitting together. . "I remember . . . running. _Things_ were chasing me, and then . . ." as clear as day she remembered that moment. A shining light, so bright it was almost blinding, in the shape of, "A woman?"

"A woman?" This seemed to catch her attention.

What happened next? "She reached out to me . . . but then . . ." But then what? What happened? All she saw was blackness, a confusing blur of sounds and sights that made no sense. She gave a frustrated sigh. "That's all I remember."

Cassandra stepped up again, but she was too focused on untangling the messed up memories and trying to piece them together to really catch what she said. She was startled back to reality as Cassandra bent down and proceeded to unshackle her. "What . . . what _did_ happen?"

She glanced at the elf and then helped her to her feet, suspicion and . . . hurt? plain on her face. "It . . . will be easier to show you." It seemed she was starting to believe that Tahlia really didn't know much.

But nothing could have prepared Talia for what she saw when they left the prison.

There was a hole, a hole in the sky. The exact same eerie green that her hand flashed. She was too in awe and shock to do much but stare as Cassandra explained that they called it a Breach. She said something about rifts—what were those?—and about demons coming into our world. "All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave."

Explosion! She briefly remembered a deafening sound, a blinding light, heat burning her skin. Was that what that was? She . . . survived an explosion? That caused _this_?

"But that's impossible." Tahlia finally said. Cassandra turned to look at her. "An explosion can't cause this!"

"This one did. And unless we act, this Breach may grow until it swallows the world." Suddenly, the Breach made a cracking sound and flashed green, tendrils like lightening clinging to the sky. And at the same time that this happened, Tahlia's hand flared yet again, making her drop to her knees, cradling her hand to her stomach. Cassandra was suddenly knelt in front of her. "Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads . . . and it is killing you too. It's may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time."

Everything, all of this, was incredibly terrifying and overwhelming. Her? They thought she could do something about that tear in the sky? And the thing on her hand, it was killing her? She suddenly realized that Cassandra was waiting for her to say something, but she was at a complete loss. What did the warrior expect her to say, to _do_ , when she could barely remember her name? But somehow, the steely resolve Tahlia saw in her captor's gaze made her sit up straighter. As far as Tahlia was concerned, she was a newborn in this world and she needed allies. And if trying to help would gain this woman's gratitude, then it was worth trying. Maybe, if everything worked out how the warrior believed it would, she would help Tahlia regain her memories, regain _herself_.

"If I help . . . will you help me in return?"

Cassandra was suddenly on guard. "What do you mean?"

"I . . . I just want to remember. Who I am and where I came from."

Cassandra hesitated, then slowly said, "I will help as much as I am capable of."

It wasn't much and Tahlia was well aware that Cassandra could easily renege on it, but it was better than nothing. "Alright. I don't know what I can do, but . . . I'll help you."


	2. Chapter 2: Idol

"You have a little shadow." Varric commented.

Confused, Tahlia turned around and watched as a human child froze in his steps at having been caught. His eyes darted back and forth as his face flamed red. "Why are you following me?"

He mumbled something that no one understood.

"What?"

"You're the Herald, right?" he said, lifting up his chin a little.

"I . . . that's what they call me." Tahlia was still not sure how she felt about that title nor how she felt about the looks she was given, as if she was a god incarnate. Though, she supposed they were better than the glared and looks of scorn from a great many other people.

He took a step forward. "You . . . have the mark? The mark that closes the tears in the sky?"

Without thinking too much about it, Tahlia lifted her hand and flipped it over to look at her hand which bore the mark which was currently being covered by a glove.

"Why don't you show the kid?" Varric suggested.

Tahlia regarded him, then turned her attention back to the human child. "Would you like to see it?"

His eyes grew wide, but he seemed uncertain. He seemed to make a quick decision, as his head rapidly bobbed in affirmation. Tahlia smiled and kneeled, peeling off the glove. "Come here then."

The kid was by her side in an instant, his eyes quickly drawn and glued to the glowing mark on the palm of her hand.

"Does it . . . hurt?"

"Sometimes."

"Can I . . . touch it?"

Tahlia quickly clenched her hand. "No!" Startled, he took a few steps back. She softened her voice and pulled back on her glove. "I'm sorry, but . . . we don't know much about it. I don't want it to accidentally hurt you."

He slowly nodded. But she noticed that besides not running off now that he got what he wanted, he kept glancing at her.

"Is there something else?"

He blushed hard this time. He gestured vaguely at her head. "Can I . . . touch them?"

"Them?" Tahlia's hand went to her head. What was he talking about?

"You know . . . these." He gestured to his ears and Tahlia had to suppress a laugh. She wondered if this was his first time seeing an elf or maybe he thought she was the only one who would allow him to touch her ears.

"Sure." He took hesitant steps forward then reached out and Tahlia almost jumped out of her skin when she felt him touch her ear. Maker, they were sensitive! After a few more touches, she grabbed his hand and drew them away, terrified she might make a noise that would be rather unsuitable outside closed doors. She had a tense smile on her face as she asked, "What's your name?"

"Joseph."

"Do you know my name?" He shook his head. "My name is Tahlia. Call me Tahlia."

His eyes widened yet again and he quickly shook his head. "No! Never! You're the Herald! You're the hero that's going to kill all the demons and get rid of the rips!"

"I—"

"Let him idealize you." Varric quickly whispered. "It gives hope."

So she did. Ever since that meeting, Joseph would find any opportunity to come and visit with Tahlia. He wanted to know what heroics she had done since last time, but otherwise he would fill the time with his voice. She found out that he was an orphan, that his mother had thrown herself over her son as a demon attacked and killed her. Inquisition forces had saved him, but not before the demon had cut him on his back. He had proudly lifted his shirt and shown the still healing scar. All Tahlia wanted to do was vomit. She had forced down the tears, the guilt.

She took a special interest in his wellbeing after. She couldn't be there for his mother, but she sure as hell could be there for him now.


	3. Chapter 3: Stalwart Companion

"You've never ridden a horse before?" Master Dennett inquired. Tahlia nodded her head, rubbing her neck. "You didn't ride my Charger? Then what in the Maker's name did you do with him when I gave him to you?"

"Kind of . . . as a pack animal?"

Dennett looked like he was going to faint and punch Tahlia at the same time. "You used my Charger as a pack animal! This is outrageous. These animals were meant for greatness, to carry knights and kings into battle and bring victory! They are not just mounts, but stalwart companions that will defend you with his very life!" He shook his head in disgust. "A _pack animal!_ "

The indignant ranting kept going. With the way he went on, Tahlia felt incredibly foolish now for making the animal carry all the loot her and her companions had found while traveling. Then again, they had had only one horse, so what else were they to do? All four of them couldn't ride the beast but . . . Tahlia eyed the mountain of a horse. It probably could have carried all of them, with its massive size and strength.

However, despite urging, she was a bit terrified to get on top of the horse. He was . . . without a shadow of a doubt, Tahlia knew he could crush her with a flick of his hoof or she would break her neck if she fell. She rather liked having her feet connected to the earth—it was incredibly reassuring and less dangerous. As if he knew he was being spoken of, the Ferelden Charger raised his head and looked in their direction. His ears pricked forward, he came to the fence and silently watched, flicking his tail occasionally.

"Commander! Seeker! You must teach this—this _lunatic_ how to ride a horse!"

Tahlia turned to see Cullen and Cassandra approaching, heads tilted and talking as they looked over something on a roster. They both looked up, Cassandra with a small, amused smile and Cullen . . . well, he had his usual stoic face. Tahlia had yet to really talk to the Commander, but he was rather imposing and it didn't help that he was always so busy, either training his recruits or assigning missions or whatever else were a part of his duties.

"I've tried to convince her to learn, but I dare say she is terrified of the very idea." Cassandra said.

Tahlia huffed, embarrassed. "Horses are massive! They'd easily kill me!"

"You'd face apostates, rogue Templars, and demons, and yet you are scared of a tamed animal?" Cassandra goaded.

"But I can _defend_ and _kill_. I have a feeling that wouldn't be so acceptable if I did that to one of our mounts . . ." Tahlia glanced at Dennett and his face said she was absolutely right.

"Have you never ridden a Halla?" Dennett demanded.

"No. My tribe had no use for them. And anyway, they aren't as big as horses!" Tahlia blinked, surprised she remembered that.

"You remember that, but not what tribe you are from?" Cassandra inquired.

"Yes . . ."

"You need to learn if you are to get anywhere on time or, Maker forbid, should an occasion arise where you need to run." Cullen cut in.

"I-I _know_ that, but . . ." Tahlia found herself at a loss for words.

"Then stop being ridiculous and learn." Cullen looked back at his roster, leafing through pages in it. "I will meet you here early every morning and teach you." He flipped all the parchments closed and looked her directly in the eye and Tahlia felt indignant at his stare—there was no respect there, in fact, it looked like a challenge. And that just brought her competitiveness to the forefront.

She gritted her teeth. "Fine."

Cassandra watched, open mouthed. "Cullen, how—"

"Very well. With the sun's first rays, I expect you to be here. Lady Cassandra. Master Dennett." He nodded his head and left.

It didn't miss anyone's attention that he didn't acknowledge Tahlia in his farewells. Fine. He wanted to play that way? She could play as well.

Maker's breath, but was it freezing in the early morning. Her breath not only condensed, but _hung_ in the air like some little piece of cloud stuck too low. Vaguely, she remembered it didn't get this cold where she remembered to call home—which she only remembered used to be a dense forest. Teeth chattering, she headed to the stables, multiple layers making it a little more difficult to move.

Cullen was leaning against the paddock fence where some of the steeds were kept for quick runs or emergencies. Tahlia paused and watched him for a moment since he wasn't aware of her presence yet. Those lines that were ever present from his furrowing brows were gone for once and his mouth wasn't curved into quite as a severe frown as usual. Vaguely, she wondered if he ever smiled or even knew how to. Some particularly crunchy snow made him aware of her presence and he turned and straightened.

He said nothing and simply watched her as she approached. When she got to him, he said, "All those layers are going to make it hard to swing your legs onto your mount."

"Yeah, I'm not losing any layers. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's cold. I'm not losing fingers just so I can move better."

A nicker got Tahlia's attention and she backpedaled at the horse face she almost bumped into when she turned to look. If she didn't know any better, it was the Charger that Dennett originally gave her. She heard an odd noise leave Cullen's throat and she narrowed her eyes at him. Had he just laughed at her? No, that couldn't be right. She shook her head.

"Well, that made choosing your horse easy." He went to some posts were halters were hanging and grabbed one. "Watch what I do. I expect you to be able to do all of this our next lesson."

Damn, he was strict. Then again, that wasn't exactly a revelation. Tahlia wanted to prove something to Cullen. She wasn't sure what that was—that she was competent? Not afraid? Deserved his respect?—but by the Maker she was going to prove it to him. She watched him like a hawk, how he got the halter on, how he led the animal. She listened intently as he took a saddle, blanket, and bridle down and told her how to secure everything. He warned her about how horses would sometimes hold their breath so the girth would be too big and make a rider and saddle swing right off or under the beast.

"He seems to like you, though. He shouldn't do that." He patted the horse's neck warmly. Hm . . . did he have a soft spot for animals? Or maybe just horses? This question somehow made Tahlia feel like he was more . . . well, _human_.

He thrust his hand holding the reins. "Go on. You saw how I was leading him before. Do it."

Anxiety rushed through Tahlia. Images of everything that could go wrong went through her head—the animal running off and her being dragged; being bitten; stomped and broken—terrifying. But there was that challenge in his eyes again and once again, Tahlia's competitiveness rose its head. She grabbed the reins from the Commander.

"Follow me."

With her hand stretched as far from her body as possible so the animal wouldn't crush her feet, Tahlia followed Cullen to a clearing where it would be safe for them to train. Once he was satisfied, he turned to Tahlia and approached her.

"Get on."

"I have no idea how."

"You put your foot here, in the stirrup and swing your other leg up and over." He eyed her height, which was a head or so shorter than him. "In your case, you can push off on this leg," He gently kicked the foot he was talking about, "in order to swing it up and over his back. Grab his mane to help pull you up and steady yourself. Go on. Try it."

She did as instructed, placing her foot in the stirrups after he adjusted them for her and grabbing the mane. She frowned. "Doesn't . . . doesn't this hurt him?" She gentle shook the hand holding the mane.

Cullen shook his head.

"Okay . . ."

She eyed the saddle and decided, yes, she definitely needed to push off with her other leg. She took a deep breath and pushed off . . . only to overshoot and fall off the other end. She stared at the sky, the wind knocked out of her. There was silence, then the sound of a man laughing. Cullen, to be specific. She sat up and glared at him, but eventually she laughed too. After that, he wasn't quite as brisk in his instructions.

At first, she was terrified being so far up and off the ground and her terror must have been evident on her face. Cullen came up to her and placed a reassuring hand on her leg as he gripped the reins. "It's not as far up as you think. And be careful of your emotions. They can sense how you feel and they copy you, except twice as bad. He can feel your fear and uncertainty and it's scaring him." He patted the horse's shoulder. "Take a deep breath and let it out. Relax your body—you're too stiff and gripping him too tight with your thighs."

Tahlia did as instructed and tried to still her racing heart.

"Better."

He then taught her how to grip the reins, how she needed to hold herself in the saddle, how he could feel how she gripped him despite the saddle and blanket. She choked down the yelp as the horse started forward and Cullen was walking beside her, giving her instructions on how to work with the horse, how to use the reins and her heels to direct and encourage the horse. By the end of their first session, she was exhausted. Her leg caught on the saddle as she attempted to get off as Cullen had instructed.

Cullen caught her and steadied her as her feet touched the ground. They walked back to the stables and Cullen showed her how to take everything off and where it went.

"Commander!"

Cullen turned to look as one of his men stood at attention a few feet off. Cullen sighed. "Put him back in the paddock. Make sure the gate closes properly. I expect to see you here at the same time tomorrow."

He then walked off and began talking to the scout. As she watched him, Tahlia thought he may not be as bad as she thought he would be.

The lessons were exhausting as Cullen pushed her to her limits every day. When he decided she was ready to try trotting, she wanted to curse him and herself for ever agreeing to this torture. She fell off a few times and always her bum hurt after. He assured her that everyone had a hard time with trotting at first. She would get better and that the other gaits got smoother.

Every time she did fall off, however, her mount would either immediately stop or circle back and try to seemingly push her back up with his nose. They had been working with the same Ferelden Charger each time and she had to say, she was growing rather fond of the beast.

"Bracken. That's what I'm going to call you. Your name is Bracken." She said to him one day. Cullen wasn't too far away and watched curiously at the interaction.

Cullen and her relationship had gotten better. To calm her down he would sometimes tell her stories of when he had been learning to ride and other times, to work on being able to ride with distractions, "because there are distractions on the battlefield," he would talk to her about his past as she rode. Nothing too serious, but she felt like he wasn't so cold now and so much more human and approachable. And, according to Cullen, she was a quick learner, especially since some sessions would be put off due to a mission or whatnot. In fact, she had caught on so fast, that Cullen decided to test her ability.

"A race!" Tahlia gaped at him.

"That's right."

"You—you just want to kill me! Speak the truth!"

"Stop being so dramatic." He scoffed. "Besides, if I wanted to kill you, there are easier ways."

So, two days later they were both on horseback at the starting point for the track Cullen had come up with. She looked over uncertainly at Cullen. He surprised her when a small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.

Everyone came to watch the race and Bull was taking bets on who would win—apparently she was the underdog. Though she was uncertain about her ability, she was sure that with Bracken, she was safe. And then they were off and Tahlia choked back the scream that wanted to rip from her throat. Bracken shot off and all she could think about was what Cullen had told her one day.

"These horses aren't meant for speed. They're meant to carry armored persons."

If these guys were considered slow, she absolutely did not want to ride what was considered fast. And then she noticed that Cullen was pulling ahead. Too hell with that! She urged Bracken faster and he willingly obliged, easily catching up to Cullen.

"No way you're winning!" Tahlia shouted. Especially with all that armor on.

He laughed. "Someone's gotten a big head!" And then, "Shit! Watch out!"

As Tahlia concentrated on what she had to watch out for, she felt Bracken tense and then she screamed as they flew through the air. Bracken jumped over the brush with ease. Bracken raced on, but Tahlia was trying to force her heart back down her throat. She had no idea how she had stayed on, but all that mattered was that she _was_ still on Bracken. At the end, it was a tie between Tahlia and Cullen and there was a lot of groaning as no one won money. Cullen got off his mount and was smiling and laughing, coming over to Tahlia. She was surprised when he slapped her back, making her stagger forward a bit.

"Good job on that jump."

Then he went and grabbed the reins of his horse and walked away and for the first time, Tahlia thought that they may yet be friends.


	4. Chapter 4: After Haven

As soon as Tahlia exited the cave, the howling of the wind bombarded her ears and the wind buffeted her as the snow cut into her like blades. A blizzard.

She wasn't going to survive this. She couldn't believe it. She survived Corypheus but not the weather. "Damnit, damnit, damnit." She muttered. Varric said he couldn't decide if she had the best or shittiest of luck—well, Tahlia had an answer. But she couldn't just sit down and die—she was too stubborn for that. Much too stubborn. She had to at least try.

Taking a deep breath, Tahlia plunged into the storm, but honestly, she had no idea where she was going. East? West? The blizzard whitewashed everything into one blank slate—she couldn't see a foot in front of her. For all she knew, she was walking straight for that monster's—Corypheaus's, she reminded herself—army. And wouldn't that be her luck?

As she struggled against the wind and snow, she almost stumbled over a wagon that was alight. Everything was so obscured, she couldn't even see a wagon on fire! Wait, wagon? She quickly turned to the wagon and knelt to inspect it the best she could. It was one of the Inquisitions! This made her both relieved and worried all at once. Relieved, because, hopefully, this meant she was going in the right direction. Worried, because she wondered how many other wagons had been destroyed, how many other people?

Tahlia pushed off the wagon and headed in her initial direction. She had to get back, not because _she_ had to live, but because she had vital information about their adversary and they needed it so _they_ could live. She could place a face on it— him—now. They weren't fighting a faceless and nameless enemy anymore. She didn't know how long she walked or how far, but it felt like forever. She was aching and shivering, her teeth clattering as she felt an incredible stinging sensation in her extremities. That was good, she reminded herself. She should worry when she start feeling numb instead, or worse, nothing.

After a while, the storm started settling down so that the snowflakes were drifting down, but it was no less cold nor was it comforting. The snow was to her thighs, making it almost impossible to move more than an inch at a time. She could see a little further now. The mountains were much closer than before, despite her struggles—it was a small comfort to know she had headed in the right direction. She wondered how many people survived because of her small contribution. Joseph's small, crumpled body came to mind and she felt her body shake, not because of cold this time, but from an overwhelming grief. But she pushed it aside, yet again. Not yet. She couldn't submit to all that yet. She had to keep it locked away, so she could focus on survival, on getting to Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine, so she could tell them everything.

But then Tahlia almost wept from the realization that she most likely wouldn't make it. Her body was growing weaker by the second. She had a bad cut on her arm that was numb yet throbbing and she morbidly wondered if she'd lose it. An arm for a town. Sounded reasonable and she laughed—hysterically, she realized.

Howling, too close, snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. She almost laughed again. Wolves. Of course. Maybe they would kill her before the cold did. Or the exhaustion. Or the deep wound on her arm. Some other noise caught her attention. It was the quiet swooshing and crunching of moving and the stepping on of snow. Tahlia's mind immediately went to the wolves. Her hand jerkily went to her back, belatedly remembering that she had lost both her blades in the fight, including the one she usually had strapped to her thigh and waist. This time, she did laugh. She looked at the sky accusingly.

"If you're real," she shouted, "If I really am Andraste's Herald, _help me_ , damn you! If—if I—" She started choking on sobs and dropped to her knees as her legs gave out. She was just so tired of it all. There was no Maker, no Andraste. What has that abomination said? He had seen the throne and it had been empty. A huff made her look up and she couldn't believe her eyes. "Bracken . . . ?"

The horse slowly grew more defined, and sure enough, it was Bracken, the Ferelden Charger handed to her by Master Dennett. He lowered his head and snuffed around her, pressing his muzzle to her head. Tahlia slowly wrapped her hands around his massive head and leaning into his warmth. He shifted and she had to catch herself so she wouldn't fall over. He bent down on his knees, groaning, and laid down.

"Good boy," she breathed, crawling to his side, grabbing his mane and pulling herself up and over. He huffed and stood up and it was then that she registered all the noises he was making. He didn't used to do that before. She checked him over and discovered that his flank was covered in wounds, mostly fresh ones. Not from Haven, then. From what?

Again the howling.

And then she knew.

"Come on boy. Let's find everyone else." He whickered and started trudging through the snow.

They were deeper in the mountains, deeper than ever before. And still, no sign of the survivors. It had stopped snowing and it was deadly silent. She was slipping in and out of consciousness, barely catching herself self before she fell off Bracken. They were both exhausted and cold and hurt.

Her mind had long ago started thinking incoherently.

 _Snow, snow, snow. Covering, like a blanket. First snow, laughed and laughed and laughed. Cold hands and warm eyes. Eyes? Inquisition. Seeing, always—Seeker. Cassandra. You're not allowed to die, she'd say. Weak, weak, weak. But for some reason Cassandra has no pants on, no pants on at all, but why is that?_ _So cold. Tilting, the world is tilting, Cassandra, tilting. I—_

Tahlia woke up with a shock as she fell off Bracken and hit the hard packed snow. She had to get up, but she was so tired and so cold. If she just laid here, if she just closed her eyes and fell asleep, she could just get up later and continue. Yes. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. Rest . . .

But Bracken started pacing and whinnying incessantly, pawing the ground.

"Hush, Bracken. Let me sleep. Let me—"

She was cut off by a howl, but this one was close, too close. Her eyes snapped open and she jerked up. Wolves. In the distance, she saw wolves prowling closer to them, following the blood drops from Bracken. They looked gaunt and desperate. Starved. They were coming for them.

Bracken was suddenly between her and the wolves, pacing, pawing, and snorting.

"No! Run! Go!" Tahlia screamed, struggling to her feet only to stumble and fall forward again.

She watched in horror as the wolves were sprinting, closer, closer, until they were upon them, no, upon Bracken. Snapping teeth and snarling, they lunged at Bracken as he kicked and reared, his training as a warhorse making him stand when he should have fled. No, no, no! She wanted to do something, anything, but all her limbs felt like lead. Black was encroaching into her vision as she watched in horror as the wolves ganged up on the war horse, watched as Bracken squealed and dropped onto his knees as he was torn down. Before her vision was completely gone, she heard shouting.

"I thought I—There!"

"Quick! Arrows!"

A wolf yelped in pain and one fell from Bracken. A foot appeared in her vision and then, "Thank the Maker! Hurry—"

And then she let the darkness take over.

She woke slowly, her body feeling bruised and beat up, groggy and not at all rested. Not after that nightmare.

Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen were arguing back and forth, back and forth about the Inquisition and what the next step was. She had woken the day before and, in an almost delirious state, answered Leliana's questions about everything that happened after they fled, much to Varric and Solas' protests. But Tahlia understood that they needed to know everything as soon as possible.

And then she had collapsed yet again after the interrogation. And the nightmares had hit. She had seen fire and eyes and heard screams and pleadings. She watched in horror as Joseph, sweet, little Joseph running away, only to be cut down by one of those monsters. The first blow did not kill him, but the second one did, tore his body apart as he silently screamed. When she came to him, as the bodies flowed past her in a blur, she dropped to her knees and howled a wretched sound.

"You didn't save me!" Her head jerked up and there he was, one arm hanging by a thin strand of sinew, his head bashed in. "Why didn't you save me! Liar! Useless knife-ear! This is all your fault!"

More bodies, mangled, beaten, desecrated surrounded her. People she knew from Haven, people she did not reach in time. They clawed at her, pulling and tearing her clothes. Accusing her.

"Why didn't you die?" They moaned and screamed. "He came for you! This is all your fault! Our deaths are because of you!"

"No, nonononono," She chanted frantically, clasping her hands to her ears. "I'm sorry! I'm so—" She choked and could say no more. Her hands were suddenly so wet and in terror, she flung them before her. Blood. Blood coated them, pooling at the ground. There was no way to measure the amount as it built and started covering her legs, her torso.

"Our blood is on your hands!" They all screamed and lunged.

She had jerked awake and now here she was. On a cot with tears and screams stuck in her throat as the leaders of the Inquisiton bickered.

"Bad dream, Herald?" Asked a soft voice.

Her eyes jerkily found Mother Giselle sitting beside her, her brow puckered in worry. She reached forward and gently wiped at Tahlia's face, wiping away the tears. Tahlia quickly sat up and wiped at her face. She didn't have time for tears. Not when so many lives were currently stuck in some Maker forsaken mountain pass, cold and hungry and at the mercy of the elements. She glared at the four fighting shems.

"This is what they have done as I rested?" She demanded.

"They can argue, because they are alive. You have given them that, Herald." Mother Giselle said gently.

Tahlia scoffed. "I did not risk so much for them to squabble over little details." Then she glared at the Mother. "And stop calling me Herald."

Mother Giselle watched Tahlia carefully, at the way she breathed hard, clenched her fists and the way she held back her tears. She looked over at the campfire, where once heated words had passed, a rather defeated lot now took up position. "You may not believe yourself to be the Herald—and maybe you are not. Who can say? But to the people, you are. What that means is far more valuable than the truth. And who is to say you are not moved by some greater force? By the Maker? You survived the Conclave, fell from the Fade. You traveled through time, and now, you have come back from the dead."

Tahlia scoffed. "I did not come back from the dead, I—" She bit her lip.

Mother Giselle turned to look at Tahlia with knowing eyes. "You give them hope. And that, my dear girl, is a treasure that should not be so thoughtlessly taken away. Hope can lead to a great many things, things that could not be achieved otherwise."

Suddenly unnerved, Tahlia quickly got up. She needed to get away, away from . . . but the moment she stepped foot outside the healing lean-to, her eyes landed on what Mother Giselle had observed so quietly. Cullen was off to the side, his head bowed and his back slouched. Leliana sat with her knees to her chest, staring blankly at the fire while Josephine twisted the fabric of her dress between her hands. Cassandra was leaning over parchment, but she was shaking and her eyes were blank. Tahlia could almost smell the defeat, the despair that haunted each one.

Tahlia felt her heart lurch and a coldness that had nothing to do with the weather claim her. This is what would happen should she completely denounce herself as the Herald. This is what utter despair looked like and she was frozen from the horror.

Someone started singing and it took a moment for her to recognize Mother Giselle as she stepped forward. The song was . . . beautiful. And slowly, voices joined the Mother's. People who had been mourning by themselves slowly gathered around the mother, singing with tear stained faces, some still with soot on them. Tahlia always knew there was a strength that song could give, but never had she felt so completely . . . filled with hope and determination as she did then, so full of a burning desire to lead these people to safety, to protect them at any cost. Her mind briefly flashed to her nightmare and her hand clenched so tight, she felt her fingernails cut into her skin. Never again.

A hand on her shoulder made her turn to find Solas. "There is something I wish to show you. Something I believe will help in your endeavors."

And though the trek was hard and a few did not make it, when they arrived to the castle in the mountains, Skyhold, Tahlia couldn't help but feel hope swell inside her chest. They would make this place theirs, a fortress to protect their own and show the world who they were. And Corypheus, that monster, that abomination, would find that the little pest who had stolen what he perceived as his, was a lot harder to kill than he thought.


End file.
